Cooking Club
by HP-Forever-XX
Summary: Entry for Quidditch Leauge Fanfiction Competition, Season 7, Round 3—McGonagall has made it mandatory for every professor to host an after-school club, and Professor Longbottom couldn't be more excited...


**Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition Season 7—Round 1**

**Team: **Holyhead Harpies  
**Position: **Captain  
**Task: **Center the story around something a character is passionate about

**Word Count: 1,295**

_Thanks SO much to Lizzie/TheNextFolchart for betaing!_

* * *

Neville carefully adjusted the wooden sign on the greenhouse door until it hung perfectly straight:

**COOKING CLUB WITH PROFESSOR LONGBOTTOM**

**Tuesdays & Thursdays, 4:00 – 5:00**

Smiling proudly at his handiwork, he dusted off his hands and moved inside the greenhouse. He had spent the entirety of his free block clearing off the workbenches and setting up food preparation stations—now all he had to do was hope that at least a few students were interested enough to actually show up.

The idea to host a cooking club had come to him two weeks ago, during the monthly staff meeting. Professor McGonagall (everyone else called her Minerva, but Neville still had trouble using her given name, even after three years as a professor himself) had called everyone to order and presented a new Hogwarts policy: every teacher must host an after-school activity at least two nights per week.

The suggestion was met with mixed reviews.

"Really, Minerva?" said Professor Slughorn. "You expect us to teach twenty classes per week and run _clubs _on top of that?"

"Yes, I do," McGonagall snapped. "I don't think you'll find it all that unreasonable, Horace—you already find time for your little Slug Club, don't you?"

"Well, yes, but—"

"Excellent." McGonagall clapped her hands twice. "Now, I will be in charge of Chess Club. Filius, I trust you plan to continue leading Frog Choir this year?"

Flitwick nodded eagerly.

"And Rolanda, I know we spoke about a debate team—"

"Why do we even _need _to do this?" Slughorn interrupted. "The students have enough on their plates as it is."

McGonagall pursed her lips. "No, they most certainly do not! In the past month alone, I've caught more than a dozen students causing trouble in the corridors out of sheer boredom."

"Bet they were all Gryffindors," Slughorn muttered.

McGonagall's nostrils flared. "As a matter of fact, each and every House was _well _represented. I seem to recall Albus Potter and Scorpius Malfoy hiding Dungbombs in suits of armor just yesterday—what _model _students you have in Slytherin!"

Neville tried desperately not to snort.

"At any rate, we need something in place to keep the students occupied and out of trouble." McGonagall looked around at her faculty. "Every child will be required to sign up for a club, and every teacher will be required to _host _a club. Now. Hagrid." She fixed her eyes on the Care of Magical Creatures professor. "What would you like to offer?"

Hagrid looked nervous. "Erm. I dunno. I've always liked teh paint—mind yeh, I'm not very good at it, but it's great fun."

"Art Club. Brilliant." McGonagall jotted it down on a piece of parchment. "Cuthbert? What about—oh, _do _wake up!"

Professor Binns, who had dozed off, jolted awake and immediately launched into a monologue about the Goblin Wars of the 16th century.

"Minerva?" Sybill Trelawney waved her hand in the air. "The tea leaves have foretold that it is my destiny to host a yoga club."

Neville could tell how hard McGonagall was trying to repress an eye roll. "Certainly, Sybill." She scribbled it down and moved on to the next faculty member. One by one she made her way around the room until her eyes finally fell on Neville.

"How about you, Neville?"

Neville swallowed. "I've got a passion for cooking," he said. It was true—one of the only photographs he had with his parents was a sweet little scene in the kitchen, where his mother and father helped him toss tiny bits of garlic into a pot of stew the size of Neville himself. His late Gran always used to say that if Hogwarts didn't work out, he'd make a great muggle chef. "Maybe I can host a cooking club?"

"That's _wonderful_, Neville." McGonagall gave him a smile of encouragement and added his club to the list. "And that brings us back to…Horace? Have you had time to decide?"

With a groan, Slughorn mumbled something about Gobstones, but Neville was too excited about his own club to pay attention. Immediately after the staff meeting, he had run off to his office to begin planning meals.

And now here he was, two weeks later, standing giddily in the greenhouse at ten minutes of four while he waited for his club members to arrive

Four came and went. No one came.

Frowning slightly, Neville got up and peered out the greenhouse door. The grounds were empty; in the distance, he could hear Hagrid bellowing at his Art Club students that the water was to be used for _watercolors_, not for pouring down each other's shirts. On the other side of the lawn, Trelawney and a handful of students—all girls, plus a grinning Fred Weasley—were wobbling around on yoga mats.

Confused, and with a building sense of dread, Neville began to walk through the castle in search of students who hadn't chosen their club yet. As he passed the Transfiguration classroom, he heard a student who sounded an awful lot like James Potter scream, "CHECKMATE!" which was followed by McGonagall telling him sternly to _get off the table and stop that victory dance or it would be detention._ Down the hall at Frog Choir rehearsal, Dominique Weasley was trying to talk her toad into wearing a bowtie for their upcoming concert (Neville smiled fondly as he thought of Trevor). Even Slughorn's Gobstones Club had a few members, although none of them were playing Gobstones and all of them appeared to be members of the Slug Club already.

Everyone seemed to have found a club, and none of them had chosen cooking.

Discouraged, Neville started the long trek back to the greenhouse. It was all right—at least this way, he would have a free hour every Tuesday and Thursday to get some grading done. Merlin knew he could use it.

As he rounded the corner into the Great Hall, he nearly collided with a student. "Whoa!" he said, reaching out to steady himself. "Careful."

"Sorry, Professor—oh! Professor Longbottom!" It was Lily Luna Potter, one of Neville's favorite students. She bounced up and down on the balls of her feet. "I've been looking for you everywhere!"

He dared to let himself hope. "You have?"

"Yes!" She beckoned for him to follow her. "We've all been waiting for you over at Cooking Club since four o'clock. We thought maybe you'd canceled it." She stopped suddenly. "You haven't canceled it, have you?"

Neville shook his head slowly. "I haven't, no."

"Oh, good." Lily skipped down the corridor. Neville hurried to follow her. "You were just running late, then."

Neville furrowed his brow. "I wasn't running—hang on. Where are you going?"

Lily had veered off just before the greenhouses and taken a sharp left toward a picture of a bowl of fruit. She glanced over her shoulder. "To the kitchens." She said it as if it should have been obvious. "Where else would Cooking Club be?"

Neville's eyes widened. "Oh! You've all been waiting for me…in the kitchens!"

"Yes." Lily reached up to tickle the painted pear. It giggled, and then the painting swung open. "Come on!" She ducked into the portrait hole. Fighting hard to suppress a grin, Neville followed her.

"He's here!" Lily announced when Neville stepped out into the kitchens. A cheer went up among the students.

His jaw dropped. There were almost forty of them—far more than he had seen at any other club meeting this afternoon. Lily took her place between to Rose Weasley and Lysander Scamander and gave Neville a big thumbs up.

With a swell of pride, Neville clapped his hands together twice, just like McGonagall had at their staff meeting two weeks ago.

"Welcome to Cooking Club," he said. "Let's begin."


End file.
